Byline: Msgr. William J. King

In truth, there are not that many rules at all in the Church, when we consider that we are a society of over a billion members globally, with a history…

In truth, there are not that many rules at all in the Church, when we consider that we are a society of over a billion members globally, with a history spanning several thousand years (if we include our pre-Christian biblical roots and traditions).

In a sense, the question is like asking why a car’s GPS system keeps telling the driver when to turn right or left: Is it providing guidance or giving a rule?

Pope John Paul II reminded us when he promulgated the Church’s current Code of Canon Law in 1983 that the Old and New Testaments form the first source of law for the Church. Turning first to the Bible, then, let’s consider what St. Paul taught about living the message of Jesus.

In the Letter to the Romans, St. Paul takes the first 11 chapters to present a well-developed theology of grace and redemption, culminating in the gift of salvation that is ours in Christ Jesus, through the mercy of our heavenly Father. Then, Paul presents a challenge: “Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Rom 12:2). The challenge is to allow our faith to change our behavior: since God has done so much for us, we should respond by conforming our behaviors to the higher standard of God’s grace.

Mercy and Grace

If we understand the depths of God’s mercy and grace, we cannot but be compelled to examine our behaviors in response. In other words, we can’t go on living as unbelievers. However, this change in our external behavior arises from within, a grateful response to all that God has done and continues to do for us. It is a change motivated by loving God and understanding His loving will for our lives. It is not a change mandated by law, but by love.

This was also the message of Pope John Paul in giving us the current Code of Canon Law. “The Code is in no way intended as a substitute for faith, grace, charisms and especially charity in the life of the Church and of the faithful,” he said.

Jesus commissioned the Church to go into the world and teach, not to legislate. For all of the Christian centuries, that is what the Church has done. The teaching of the Church, flowing from Divine Revelation in the Bible and through the Holy Spirit in the tradition of the Church, leads to the development of doctrine and dogma.

At the same time, as the Church has grown and encountered new questions, it has dealt with questions of Church organization and discipline. This led to the development of law in the Church. We call this canon law, from the Greek word for a measuring rod. Canon law is always a servant of theology, however, and as the final canon of the Code of Canon Law reminds us, the salvation of souls is the supreme law of the Church.

Doctrine and Law

There is a difference between doctrine and law. They call for two different responses. In the end, though, they should both have an influence on how we live our lives.

Doctrine, or Church teaching, helps us understand the meaning of the Gospel and the action of God in our daily lives. Doctrine may be purely theological — that is, focused on the mysteries of God such as the Divine Trinity, or the nature of Christ (Christology), or Divine Revelation. Doctrine may also deal with the practical application of the Gospel to daily life, as in moral theology, or the social doctrine of the Church. It may deal with the nexus between God and humanity, as in sacramental theology, or divine worship, or the nature of the Church (ecclesiology).

The Church asks us as Catholics, first of all, to understand doctrine. We’re asked to inform our minds by reading the doctrinal statements of the magisterium, the teaching authority of the Church. Only then, after we have read and understood the teaching, does the Church next ask us to assent to the teaching intellectually. This is the basis of a properly formed conscience: knowing, understanding and assenting with our minds to the teaching of the Church. Next follows the impact of that teaching in our lives — namely, putting it into practice.

A Catholic employer who understands and assents to the long history of Catholic social doctrine would want to respect the dignity of workers and provide a decent salary and working conditions. However, there is no “rule” that specifies exactly how to do this. Canon 222.2 says, generally, that the Christian faithful are “obliged to promote social justice,” and Canon 1286 obliges many Church employers “to pay a just and honest wage,” but these general provisions flow from the broader history of social teaching.

Similarly, a lengthy history of doctrine on responsible human sexuality and the gift of life asks Catholics to understand and give assent to the fact that artificial contraception is incompatible with Christian morality. This doctrine is repeated in many teachings of the Church, but scour the Church’s legislative texts and one discovers that there is no law which explicitly proscribes artificial birth control (except for the result of abortifacients). The clarity and persuasiveness of the doctrine should lead us to understand the teaching and to choose to put it into practice in our lives, in an evolution from mind to conscience to action. Immoral does not mean illegal since the role of law in the Church is very narrow compared to the broader roles of doctrine and conscience.

Law is different. Law does not ask that we first understand it and then give assent to it. Law asks instead that we obey first and then look for the values and teachings behind the law. The Ten Commandments, for instance, are law, not doctrine. However, it helps us as Christians to try to understand why avoiding these 10 behaviors is important to God. What is the history behind these commandments? What is their context in the Bible? That kind of questioning is also helpful in understanding some of the disciplinary norms and practices of the Church. Why are these behaviors so important to my spiritual or religious growth that they are mandatory?

Jesus himself did not avoid giving His disciples guidance on how to live their lives, whether dealing with paying taxes or forgiving others. But Jesus put law in its proper context for His followers: “If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love” (Jn 15:10).

The Church is not free to ignore the teaching of Jesus in the Bible, and certainly not free to ignore the rules that He gives us. His teaching on divorce and remarriage often causes people to express concern about the “rules” of the Church: “But I say to you, whoever divorces his wife (unless the marriage is unlawful) causes her to commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery” (Mt 5:32). However, this is a rule of Jesus and cannot be ignored.

Doctrine exists to help guide our understanding of God, the Church and the life of grace. Both doctrine and law are given to us by the Church not as roadblocks or hindrances in our life, but as helps to us in our spiritual journey. They are actions to do (the obligation of Sunday Mass) or things to avoid (desecration of the Holy Eucharist) so that we can arrive more easily at our spiritual end — namely, the salvation of our souls.

If I ignore my car’s GPS direction to turn right at the next corner, it takes a moment to recalculate how I can get back on track. Depending on the route, I might have to make a detour or U-turn. In the same way, if I ignore a rule of the Church I can recalculate how to get back on track in my religious or spiritual journey, and if need be go to confession when I’ve sinned.

It is important when we encounter a “rule” in the Church to ask first if it is really a rule at all. Perhaps it is instead a practical application of a moral or theological doctrine. Either way, we ought to try and understand the teaching and reasons for it before questioning a “rule” of the Church.

The Issue of Penalties

There is another important point to keep in mind when we consider law in the Church. Very few rules carry a penalty. Only those few actions that injure the life of the Church or seriously imperil the soul of the offender carry a penalty. For instance, a completed abortion carries the penalty of excommunication from the Church. A priest’s direct violations of the seal of confession or the sexual abuse of minors are other examples of acts requiring severe penalties. You can see that these rules exist to protect the most important values of the Church.

Most Church “rules” don’t impose a penalty for violating them. For example, it is a spiritual and penitential practice to abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday and the Fridays of Lent. If I were to eat a hot dog on one of those days I would not be excommunicated or otherwise punished by the Church. I may have violated a rule, but the rule exists to help guide me spiritually in understanding that I can depend on God’s goodness and providence while denying myself something of this world. The sin in eating meat is not about ignoring the rule as much as ignoring the opportunity to grow in my dependence on God.

Some Catholics question why there are so many “rules” in the Church. When asked to identify a problematic rule, it is often not a “rule” at all but a matter of teaching or doctrine that is at issue.

Preparation for reception of any of the sacraments is a task taken seriously by the Church, especially if that sacrament involves a lifelong commitment. Think of the years of preparation…

Preparation for reception of any of the sacraments is a task taken seriously by the Church, especially if that sacrament involves a lifelong commitment. Think of the years of preparation required for priests before ordination, or even the lengthy preparation for children to receive first holy Communion. Surely, the life-changing commitment to marry another person should require adequate time to prepare, including sufficient time to get to know one’s intended partner for the whole of life.

The burden is upon the Church — especially the parish priest and the people — to provide formation to a couple on the meaning of marriage, its commitment, its holiness, its public witness and the sanctity of life that accompanies authentic Christian marriage. It is the responsibility of the Church to arouse and enlighten faith within the couple preparing for marriage. It is not the responsibility of the couple to prove their readiness or worthiness, a fact brought out clearly by Pope St. John Paul II in his post-synodal apostolic exhortation Familiaris Consortio (see No. 68).

There is no specific period of time required or suggested by the universal Church for a couple to date or otherwise prepare for the Sacrament of Matrimony. Because culture affects how courtship and marriage are celebrated, this is something left to the various local conferences of bishops. This is spelled out in Canon 1067 of the Code of Canon Law. In the United States, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has outlined in general terms what this preparation should include, but leaves the specifics to each diocesan bishop. They do not specify a minimum time for preparation.

Most dioceses have established a preparation period for the couple to reflect on the lifelong commitment of marriage and its sacred nature, and to learn more about holy matrimony as a sacrament. The flip side of this preparation period is that the Church’s minister who will officiate at the wedding must gauge the readiness of the couple to enter marriage as well as their understanding of their commitment. This takes time.

In most places the minimum preparation period is from six to twelve months and includes a minimal amount of formal instruction and spiritual reflection by the couple.

The path from the Upper Room through the grove of olive trees to Golgotha may not be more than a few hundred yards, but it was neither a quick nor…

The path from the Upper Room through the grove of olive trees to Golgotha may not be more than a few hundred yards, but it was neither a quick nor an easy walk.

Similarly, the road to Emmaus was short on steps but long on meaning as eyes were opened to sacred Scripture and hearts were set ablaze in the breaking of the bread.

Each time the Church gathers at Mass we retrace the path of Jesus from Holy Thursday through Easter Sunday. The path is not quickly trod. The Mass concentrates the path of three days into about an hour of intense meaning. The meaning is most significant when we become active participants, bringing our own fears, worries, joys, hopes, dreams and pains along with Jesus to the cross.

The center and core of the Mass, the Eucharistic prayer, transports us mystically to the hours from the lifting up of Jesus’ own heart to the Father to the moment of His death and resurrection. These many hours are condensed to a few paragraphs.

The apostolic Church called this part of the Mass the anaphora, from the Greek verb meaning “to carry back,” since each celebration of the Eucharistic prayer carries us back to the Upper Room with Jesus, to live anew the precious sacrifice of His own flesh and blood.

We lift our hearts to God most high; we accompany Jesus through the Last Supper and to the Cross; we plead for His mercies upon us; we acknowledge the glory that is God’s. These are the living memories of the Eucharistic prayer.

A Living Remembrance

When a family gathers for an important event — a baptism, first holy Communion, a graduation, a wedding, an ordination, a reunion, or a funeral — there is a shared experience: stories are told about family members and memories of the past, and after a hearty time of recollection there is a meal.

“Remember when …” so many of those stories begin. Stories are recalled about grandfathers, aunts, sisters, siblings. These are memories that forge a family’s identity and make them unique. In the past, fingers pointed to pages in a photo album, and today a smartphone screen is passed around. “Remember when …”

The Mass is a family gathering for an important event, where stories are told about our family’s past (the Liturgy of the Word) and then we share a meal (the Liturgy of the Eucharist), which in truth is so much more than a simple meal — it is the sacrifice that brings us salvation. At the heart of this family event is the Eucharistic prayer, the anaphora, or the canon of the Mass. These are the family memories of the last words and actions of Jesus, brought to life.

For the first millennium of the Church, the Eucharistic prayer was usually chanted so that all in the church could hear it clearly. In recent centuries the emphasis was placed on the notion of mystery, and so the priest prayed most of the texts quietly. The Second Vatican Council restored the more ancient practice so that in the ordinary form of the Mass the priest prays or chants the texts aloud.

At the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer, the priest, who stands in the person of Christ, invites the people to join with him in lifting our hearts to God. We begin the Eucharistic prayer by acknowledging together that it is right and just to give thanks to the Lord our God. We end it with a sweeping affirmation that all glory and honor belong to God in the Divine Trinity. What happens in between is nothing less than the miraculous act of our eternal salvation: the sacrifice in which Jesus is priest, victim and altar — the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

So vivid is this memory to Christians that in the early Church the pagan Romans accused Christians of true sacrifice and of cannibalism.

We are asked to remain silent during most of this prayer as an act of profound reverence and contemplation. In truth, we should fall into stunned silence in awe of what is happening before us at the altar: God made flesh, offering himself as an atoning sacrifice for the forgiveness of our sins, truly present in our midst! Much more than a passive experience of listening while the priest prays, the Eucharistic prayer invites us to open our hearts and our lives to the power of Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection. In the Eucharistic prayer, we lift up our needs and our petitions, and together with the priest we thank God, praise God, seek blessings from God, present our deepest selves to God for redemption and healing on the altar.

This is why the priest invites us at the outset to “pray, brethren, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, our almighty Father.”

A Memory Shared

The Roman Missal prescribes the liturgical rites of the Latin-rite Church, which is only one of more than 20 distinct churches within the communion of the Catholic Church. Each of these churches has its own form of celebrating the Mass. Though the outward form varies, there is only one reality of the Mass, only one Calvary, only one sacrifice. The various forms evolved from the cultural and linguistic uniqueness of various parts of the Christian world. Great centers of Christian history, such as Antioch, Chalcedon, Alexandria, Constantinople and Rome developed a particular ritual and unique language for the celebration of the Mass.

Even today these historical and cultural differences impress their character on each of the churches that make up the worldwide communion of Catholic churches. The Mass of the Latin-rite Church — whether in the official Latin or translated into English, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, or any language — is markedly different in its externals from the Divine Liturgy of the Ukrainian Catholic Church, or the Mass of the Coptic Church, or of the Armenian Church.

Still, no matter the historical origin of the rites, every Mass celebrates the same reality: a living memory of the saving sacrifice of Christ in His flesh and blood.

The anaphora (Eucharistic prayer) of the Latin-rite Church is first recorded in a work entitled “The Apostolic Tradition,” attributed to Hippolytus of Rome, and which scholars traditionally accept as having been composed around the year A.D. 215.

It was written in Greek, which replaced the Aramaic-language prayers within a century after the ascension of Jesus. Greek remained the language of the Church, including the celebration of the Mass, until it was replaced by Latin in the Western Church — a slow transition that occurred from the mid-third century through the fifth century.

Today there are several Eucharistic prayers listed in the Roman Missal, but four are most commonly used. The others are for special purposes — Masses for reconciliation and for various needs. The second of the four principal Eucharistic prayers in today’s Roman Missal is nearly identical with the anaphora of Hippolytus. It represents the most ancient prayer of the Mass, predating what is traditionally called the “Roman Canon” by almost four centuries.

The other three Eucharistic prayers in the Roman Missal are of later origin, and they reflect the historical evolution of the anaphora, or canon, of the Mass in various parts of the Roman Empire.

Diverse forms of the Eucharistic prayer existed in common usage for centuries in different parts of the Christian world. The differences were not great, but there were variations in the words used and the order in which the parts of the canon were prayed. Historical names for rites such as the Mozarabic, Gallican and Ambrosian rites, or the Gelasian Sacramentary, may be familiar to some readers.

The so-called Roman Canon, which is listed first among the Eucharistic prayers in the Roman Missal, was compiled under the direction of Pope St. Gregory the Great (pope from 590 to 604). He wished to make uniform the texts of the Eucharistic prayer throughout the Latin-rite Church.

Since then, minor changes have been made to the words several times, but it remains substantially the same.

The third and fourth Eucharistic prayers were composed following the Second Vatican Council.

The third Eucharistic prayer is greatly influenced by the Gallican and Mozarabic rites of centuries past, and the fourth draws its substance from Eastern sources, especially the fourth century anaphora of St. Basil.

Some years ago a noted scientific journal published an article on the geometry of humor. The author pointed out that all humor follows a certain geometric pattern, which was both…

Some years ago a noted scientific journal published an article on the geometry of humor.

The author pointed out that all humor follows a certain geometric pattern, which was both described in a mathematical formula and illustrated as a triangle. A joke, a riddle, a pun all conceptually lead a person up an incline and give the impression that the incline will continue, but with the punch line the path drops off like a cliff. In listening to or reading a joke, or in contemplating a riddle, a person’s mind begins to project where the story line is headed, but the surprise trajectory — an unexpected and rather sudden change in direction — is what causes the reaction: laughter.

Parables

There’s something sterile about describing humor in a mathematical formula, even if one might find the effort humorous in itself. Even so, it seems that the parables of Jesus follow the same geometry: presenting a scenario, leading the listener to project an ending, then suddenly delivering a punch line that surprises or shocks. Several authors have suggested that those who first heard Jesus’ parables in first-century Palestine might actually have found them humorous, in part because of the surprise endings, but mostly because of the fanciful or unusual situations Jesus depicted. The master parable teller painted a story with familiar details that may have led the hearers to look forward to a predictable ending, only to see the story’s trajectory changed to an unforeseeable conclusion.

As soon as you recognize that a joke is in the works, you know you’re no longer on safe ground. The punch line could come at any moment: a twist, a surprise, a play on words. In the telling of a joke, everything changes for a moment. Assumptions aren’t safe. The familiar becomes unfamiliar. The listeners are anxiously expecting the surprise at the end.

It’s difficult to imagine anything that comes closer to an encounter with the Jesus of the Gospel.

Humor, however, has not always been a laughing matter in the history of the Church.

Although Ecclesiastes 3:4 tells us that there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh,” and although Sarah famously laughed when angelic visitors told her husband Abraham that she would bear a son within the year, most biblical references to laughter do not bring a smile to the face. When the Bible refers to laughter it is often the scornful laughter of a sinner reviling God, or — since God gets the last laugh — the response of God to such scorn.

Similarly, the Church Fathers give short shrift to laughter, seeing an incongruity between the awareness of one’s sins and the willingness to laugh. St. John Chrysostom, one of the dour Fathers, suggests that weeping is preferable to laughing in this vale of tears.

Yet the shared experience of every human is one of both weeping and laughing, of mourning and of dancing. The author of Proverbs reminds us that laughter and sadness abide together, one never far from the other. Together with the pain of separation from God, humanity’s experience of God is replete with joy: the delight of Adam discovering Eve; the unbounded glee of King David dancing before the Ark of the Covenant; the happy leap of John the Baptist in the womb; heaven’s elation at one repentant sinner; and, ultimately, the words we all long to hear, “Come, share your master’s joy” in heaven, where “there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain” (Rv 21:4). A walk through the Bible shows that references to joy far outweigh the mention of sadness.

Part of God’s Love

Without disagreeing that our sins are cause for sadness and repentance, serious Christian thinkers such as Søren Kierkegaard and Reinhold Neibuhr suggested that the ability to laugh at ourselves and at the foibles of the world is both a prelude and a result of true contrition for our sins. The influential 20th-century theologian Father Karl Rahner saw laughter as a gift from God, a tutor to help us understand God’s love for us. Humor helps to keep us humble, recognizing and admitting our imperfections before God.

G.K. Chesterton, a prolific essayist and author of fiction, biography, poetry and plays, finally converted to Catholicism in 1922 after his faith grew in a lengthy germination. He valued humor as a sign of wonder, and wonder as a doorway of spirituality. No reader of Chesterton’s essays can come away without a smile and perhaps a hearty laugh. And no one can doubt his faith in God’s goodness. Another convert to Catholicism late in life, Malcolm Muggeridge, saw humor as God’s therapy and looked forward to hearing “the unmistakable sound of celestial laughter” in heaven.

Joy and laughter are part of our heritage as children of God, just as they are part of our experience as human beings. Together with weeping and sadness they frame our experience of life.

Though the Gospel writers note the tears of Jesus as He wept over Jerusalem, at the tomb of His friend Lazarus and certainly in Gethsemane’s garden, no one can doubt the joy which permeated Jesus’ public ministry. It’s impossible not to picture Jesus and His apostles as joyful at the wedding feast in Cana. Joyful feasting was a common image of the Lord in His parables.

Indeed, in His priestly prayer in John’s Gospel, the Lord is clear about His mission: “That my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete” (Jn 15:11).

Joy Is First

St. Paul reminds the Galatians that joy is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit, a sign and symptom of a life lived in the Spirit of God. He also gives us an instruction toward the end of his First Letter to the Thessalonians, a practical lesson for how to live in a world that is passing away. After urging the Christians in Thessalonica to “cheer the fainthearted” who worry unduly about the final judgment, he gives a three-part instruction for life: “Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks” (5:16-18).

Notice, joy is first.

The ability to find joy in all circumstances — to laugh at the vicissitudes of life knowing that God has conquered all in Christ Jesus — is indeed a sign and symptom of sanctity. The saints show us this.

St. Lawrence, deacon of the church of Rome, was arrested three days after the seizure and martyrdom of his bishop, Pope St. Sixtus. When the pagan prefect of Rome demanded that Lawrence, who as a deacon was responsible for providing aid to the poor and needy, produce the hidden wealth of the Church, Lawrence asked for three days to assemble it. At the appointed hour he gathered the poorest and neediest persons from around the city and told the prefect, “This is the Church’s treasure.” The prefect saw no humor in that and ordered Lawrence be tied to an iron grill and burnt slowly over a fire. God gave Lawrence the gift of humor in the midst of his torture, such that he is said to have joked with his torturers, “Turn me over, I’m done on this side.”

The humor of Teresa of Jesus, the Spanish Carmelite reformer from Ávila, is well known. Among the quotes attributed to her is a smiling retort to God when the saintly nun was thrown off a cart into a mud puddle as she traveled to visit a monastery. Looking up from the muddy road, Teresa said to God, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few!” St. Teresa is also said to have given the following advice to a young novice who admitted falling asleep every day at prayer: “If you go to prayer and find yourself falling asleep, accept it as a gift from God. If, however, you fall asleep at prayer every day, find another time to pray.”

Indeed, it may be the deep holiness of St. Teresa that allowed her to maintain a sense of humor even in the midst of turmoil. Only one with a deep and passionate trust in God’s goodness could seek and treasure humor in the midst of travails and disappointments such as Teresa experienced. She wrote: “Let nothing trouble you, let nothing frighten you. All things are passing; God never changes. Patience obtains all things. He who possesses God lacks nothing: God alone suffices.” Such confidence buoys the soul and produces a light heart. It is the truest font of joy and humor for the believer.

Why is humor important? Principally because it keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously. If we recognize that here on earth we have not a lasting city, it’s perhaps best to laugh at the incongruities while joyfully accepting God’s grace to act as agents of His redemption. In other words, perhaps a believer’s best attitude in life is to change what we can change and laugh at what we cannot, completely confident that God has already bested whatever tries to keep us from joy.

Msgr. William King is a priest for the Diocese of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Pope Francis on Joy

“Instead of imposing new obligations, [Christians] should appear as people who wish to share their joy, who point to a horizon of beauty and who invite others to a delicious banquet.”

“Be courageous in suffering and remember that after the Lord will come; after, joy will come, after the dark comes the sun. May the Lord give us all this joy in hope.”

“Christianity spreads through the joy of disciples who know that they are loved and saved.”

In some places you will find “Marriage Banns” in your parish bulletin. But what is it all about? In the early Middle Ages, secret or clandestine marriages became a problem….

In some places you will find “Marriage Banns” in your parish bulletin. But what is it all about?

In the early Middle Ages, secret or clandestine marriages became a problem. The Church had no required form for celebrating marriage at that time, and so a couple could choose to marry privately and without any pomp or ceremony, and even without witnesses, friends or family in attendance. No one would really know if they were married.

It was only in the year 1215, at the Fourth Lateran Council, that the Church required a recognizable and public form of celebrating marriage, a requirement that was repeated by the Council of Trent in the late 1600s and made binding for all Catholics worldwide in 1908.

Before there was a required form for Catholic marriage, when a person approached the Church for marriage it was difficult to know whether they had been previously married. It was not unheard of for a person to conceal a previous marriage rather than disclose that fact. Hence, the Church began to require the publication of the Banns of Marriage. This is an announcement of an intended marriage, naming the persons to be married, which is publicly read or posted three times. It is similar to the dramatic scene often shown in film and television (though it is not a Catholic practice) of the officiant of a wedding solemnly declaring in these or comparable words, “If anyone knows why these people should not be married, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

The Code of Canon Law permits the local conference of bishops to establish norms for marriage banns (see Canon 1067). In the United States, this has been left to the determination of the local bishop. Many bishops today permit the local priest to dispense from the publication of banns if he judges that there is no practical need for them. Other bishops require the publication of banns only in specific situations, such as when a Catholic is marrying an unbaptized person. Canon 1067 also requires questioning the parties and witnesses to establish the freedom of spouses to enter marriage, so banns are often omitted or dispensed if the parish pastor is satisfied that he already has sufficient information to ensure that a couple is free to enter marriage.

The mechanic at the repair shop explained to the frustrated vehicle owner that the wheels of his car were out of alignment. The mechanic asked if the driver had recently…

The mechanic at the repair shop explained to the frustrated vehicle owner that the wheels of his car were out of alignment.

The mechanic asked if the driver had recently driven through a pothole or perhaps had hit a curb. He explained that this could be sufficient to have forced the wheels out of alignment. All the driver knew was that it took a lot of work to drive straight down the highway with the car constantly pulling off center. Without constant attention and constant adjustment of the steering wheel, the car tended to drift off the road. “One big pothole can do that,” the mechanic informed the puzzled driver, “and after that, it’s almost impossible to go straight without constant correction.”

What’s true for an automobile is, in this sense, also true of the human soul.

Theologians have long attempted to explain humanity’s tendency to veer off course: one big sin (that of our first parents in the garden) and it’s almost impossible to go straight without constant correction. Keeping in mind that the New Testament word for sin is hamartia, a Greek word that literally means to miss the mark or to veer off course, we might say that after original sin it’s nearly impossible to stay on the “straight and narrow.”

Theologians call this tendency to sin “concupiscence.” The word concupiscence is defined as a strong desire, a tendency or attraction, usually arising from lust or sensual desires. It is, morally speaking, the tendency to go off course.

Concupiscence is understood as an effect of original sin that remains after baptism. The waters of baptism cleanse us of original sin itself, but concupiscence remains as a lingering effect. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that “certain temporal consequences of sin remain in the baptized, such as suffering, illness, death … as well as an inclination to sin that Tradition calls concupiscence” (No. 1264, emphasis in original).

To use another analogy, medical research cautions that a severe sunburn early in life will render a person more susceptible to dangerous skin cancer throughout life. That early sunburn may heal fairly quickly, but its effects last through life, increasing vulnerability to cancer. Precautions must be taken to shield the skin from the damaging effects of the sun’s radiation, since there is a greater susceptibility to skin damage after that major sunburn.

Original Sin

Original sin — passed down through the generations of humanity — brought to our first parents the alienation from paradise, and with it all the effects of mortality: pain, illness, suffering, aging, death and decay.

Original sin caused a rupture, or break, in the harmony between body and soul that was part of God’s creation of man. In the original innocence of our first parents, there was perfect harmony: harmony with God, harmony with the surrounding world, harmony with one’s self. The decision to break away from God’s will also broke the original harmony in creation, and there has been tension ever since.

The first 11 chapters of the Book of Genesis reveal the growth of tension and discord: starting with the perfect harmony of the garden, through the first sin, then the sin of brother against brother, and it ends with the tower of Babel — a point in human history where no two persons could understand each other.

In the original innocence of our human nature, there was perfect harmony between body and soul. Since death entered the world as a consequence of sin, the separation of the soul from the body at death is a consequence of original sin. We profess our belief in the resurrection of the body, at which time soul and body will be restored to the perfect harmony that existed before original sin. Concupiscence is a symptom of the disharmony between soul and body, since the body and its appetites, or desires, wants to pull us a certain way, and the soul wants to cling to the higher things of God and grace.

In heaven, the harmony between body and soul will be restored, as will the harmony with God and the world around us. Sin will be no more.

The Sacrament of Baptism washes away original sin, yet there remain the effects of original sin. One of them is an innate tendency to be vulnerable to temptation, to be inclined to sin, to be predisposed to desires that do no honor to the grace of God.

The Council of Trent (1545-1563) taught that concupiscence “comes from sin and induces to sin.” Yet, concupiscence is not itself sin. Concupiscence makes us vulnerable to sin, but susceptibility to temptation is not sin. How we act in response to the temptation determines the rightness or wrongness — the sin. With constant attention, or more accurately with the acceptance of God’s constant outpouring of grace, the human person can be unaffected by this tendency to drift off course.

A driver who is attentive to the path ahead can constantly adjust for a misalignment in the car’s front end, keeping the car moving toward the goal of the driver. Indeed, the Council of Trent noted that concupiscence “cannot harm those who do not consent but manfully resist it by the grace of Jesus Christ” (Catechism, No. 1264). It is prevenient grace that precedes our thoughts and actions, waiting for us when we are tempted by concupiscence to go off course. By availing ourselves of that grace, we are enabled by God to resist the tendency to sin and instead to stay on the morally proper course.

How Do We Respond?

The story is told of the priest who asked a man in the confessional, “My son, do you entertain evil thoughts?” The penitent quickly responded, “Oh no, Father, they entertain me!” It is concupiscence that makes our minds more vulnerable to thoughts that incline us to sin and to sinful actions, but neither concupiscence nor those thoughts are sinful in themselves. The morality is determined by what we do in response: to beg God’s grace to turn away from thoughts of sin is meritorious, but to offer no resistance and give in to immoral or disordered acts is the very definition of sin itself. Concupiscence corrupts the will to the point that we are tempted to conclude that something less than God will ultimately satisfy.

St. Thomas Aquinas taught clearly that concupiscence is a consequence of original sin. Once human beings made the decision to be unbound from the will of God, the harmony within human nature also became unbound.

Desires and appetites were no longer in harmony with the intellect or reason, and the two — desire and reason — fought against one another.

St. Paul understood this, and described it in his Letter to the Romans: “I see in my members another principle at war with the law of my mind, taking me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members” (7:23). As a result, St. Paul could write, “I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want” (Rom 7:19). Even Jesus observed concupiscence in action when He said, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Mt 26:41; see also Mk 14:38).

The prophets of the Old Testament understood this interior tension. Jeremiah asked the piercing question, “More tortuous than anything is the human heart, beyond remedy; who can understand it?” (Jer 17:9). Jeremiah understood human nature and spoke often of the stubbornness of their evil hearts (see 3:17 and many other passages), “evil thoughts” (4:14, RSV), and humanity’s “stubborn and rebellious heart” (5:23, RSV).

The psalms of David offer lament for sins committed as well as penetrating insight into the lived dichotomy between weakness and grace, the lusts of the flesh and the longing for holiness. “Sin directs the heart of the wicked man; his eyes are closed to the fear of God” (Ps 36:2). In a plaintive cry for God’s mercy, the psalmist acknowledges the dueling desires within him, and acknowledges, “I have been mortally afflicted since youth” (Ps 88:16).

Staying on Course

From the earliest reflection on life lived in relationship to God — the Book of Genesis — to the present day, the tension between good and evil is well-known. Whether presented as a life or death struggle in the psalms, or a comedic conversation with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, it is innately understood that we all experience concupiscence on a daily basis.

Have you noticed that the temptation to eat meat seems to be the strongest on a Friday in Lent?

That’s concupiscence at work, the body at war against the soul, each pulling in a different direction. Whether we entertain evil thoughts or they entertain us, that’s also concupiscence at work: the desires of the flesh are not in harmony with the desires of the soul.

While we cannot vanquish concupiscence in this life, we can open our lives to the grace of God that provides the strength to resist the weakness of our fallen nature.

Despite the choice of our first parents to “throw off the yoke of God’s will,” as St. Thomas Aquinas described it, we can today choose to take upon ourselves a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light (see Mt 11:30). The grace of God that goes before us and anticipates our weakness — prevenient grace — is ours if we but open ourselves to it when concupiscence tempts us off course.

Modern highways help drivers stay on course with painted lines and with a rumble strip when they veer out of the lane. In the moral life, prevenient grace and our free will to do what is right perform for us the same function, and if we veer off course, the rumble of conscience will gently prod us back.